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Friday, 12 November 2010

I'd quite like to smell beautiful.

I love working with food. Always have. Probably always will.

There is however a major downfall. You never, ever get to finish work smelling beautiful. Basically you smell of hotdogs. We don't even sell hotdogs. Every night when I get home from work after spending the day rustling up glorious salads, baking delicious cakes and making fresh soups I smell myself. Do I smell like fresh basil, fresh mint, warm vanilla sponge? No. I smell like hotdogs.

A trip to the shops after work can be embarrassing. The coiffed beauty that smells of of Japanese musk in the queue in front of you in Tesco turns around because she wonders where the in-store hotdog cook off is. The man with the stylish glasses and record bag won't sit next to you on the bus even though it would make it easier to play whatever game he's playing on his i phone. The taxi driver driving you to the pub for sneaky after work drinks tells you he hopes you're not going on a date because you smell like you work in a hotdog van. The scenarios are endless.

So... A plea. Next time you finish work smelling like roses and then get a taxi straight to meet your other gorgeous smelling friends in the pub; spare a thought for me, the onion girl sitting alone on the bus smelling of hotdogs.

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